I’m sitting mindfulness meditation in the aftermath of the American election. The petals are still falling from, and into, my friend’s heart and I am in shock following an evening of watching the media coverage of the election. Stunned, and in tears, I listen to Lenard Cohen and his words echo in the silence.

“ You know that I want to live with you, But you make me forget so very much. I forget to pray for the angels And then the angel forgets to pray for us. And now I need your hidden love…"

The power of the expressive mind is available in every moment. It was hard to hold my own inner process separate form the powerful social forces swirling around me. The US election was penetrating everyone’s life. Everyone had an opinion. Everyone had a hope and a fear. Some of us had a vision. Some of us were simply angry. Some of us felt dispossessed and cut off from the government. Some felt jubilant and vindicated. Many others felt their country had died. Distrust, fear, blame, shame, disgust, violence, terror and betrayal: so many powerful currents running at high velocity through our social world. The ground had radically changed.

Sometimes the heart overwhelms our words. Sometimes our body speaks for us. Sometimes it is the color that your hand reaches for that reveals the present moment of truth to you. This week I was feeling, honoring, and releasing, and using "the sanity we are born with" to find my ground, my courage and my voice.I kept coming back to my personal context: my partner, my family, my friends, my home, my art, and looking for sanity. Looking for the hidden love.

In reality, the petals were falling from the flowers. The fall weather had cooled, and still I had not planted the fall bulbs. I could hardly put the garden to sleep for the winter. I could not bring myself to think ahead. I could not feel any possibility. I could not anticipate the colors of spring. The tulips my friend loves will not grow here. I need to find the hidden love.

My teacher, Chogyam Trungpa, taught us to look directly at what is, thereby reaching for inherent sanity, and releasing the power of compassion. Through our expressive minds, we can heal pain with love, and clarity, and the strength of our human hearts. And we keep on walking, and talking. I bought a huge bag of daffodils and contemplated planting them.

Then I came back to the rocks. Looking at these two rocks I see my friend and myself. I see the patterns of our lives. My friend was the rock in my life in times of crisis and I was the rock in hers. In the colors, the reds and greens, I see the richness that was. Most of all, I feel the earth. What ground do she and I share now? What earth are we standing on?Where is America’s hidden love?Where is America’s rock? Contemplating this I watched the frost moon rise over Indian Harbour. The super-moon pulled the tides high on either side of our little island, and outlined the houses by the rocky shoreline. The brilliant softness illumines the homes. It directs my eyes to the waters.May you all find the strength to seek the hidden love in your worlds and find a ground of truth which you can trust.

I began this session by meditating, and then doing a contemplation on opening the heart. From a state of openness, and with a sense of appreciation and vulnerability, I trusted my hand to choose the colors and to make the marks on the page. Consciously releasing the urge to strategize or to analyze, I gave myself permission to just be with the breath and the flow of the brush. The painting “did itself “.

The reality of loss cuts through all. It exposes my face to the elements..softly soaking Vancouver rains and biting Atlantic winds co-mingle in my tears. Accepting the finality of the loss of my friend to Alzheimer’s is difficult. There will be no more heated discussions of women’s rights; no rants about the cultural genocide the Canadian Government perpetrated in First Nations communities; no soft arms holding me; no raucous laughter; no long walks along the headlands at Hornby; no canoeing; no nude swims at midnight; no one to remember me; no one to call me; no one to get me up for swimming at 6 am. Who will understand my broken-heartedness, my depression, my rage? The ground feels barren.

Facing love as it really is in this moment, so much is swept away, Sister friends are like no others.I drop the flower and turn to the rocks for comfort. Holding their timeless beauty close, trying to discern another time, another past without a future. Feeling for their stability and grace. May all of us find peace as we face ourselves. and connect to an inner light within the darkness of our days.